


right here by my side

by ziggy styles (larryonmygaywardson)



Series: my baby likes buttered popcorn [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy, Light Angst, M/M, brief mention of smut, but i suck at writing sad so??, hand holding, i'm making it a tag, it's also kinda sad, that's not a tag?, this is just cute okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:16:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5800408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larryonmygaywardson/pseuds/ziggy%20styles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You feeling better then?” Louis asks. This is the part where they’d usually part ways and head home, but Harry’s fingers are still between Louis’ comfortably.</p><p>“Yeah, a great deal,” Harry nods. Louis smiles at him and squeezes his hand experimentally.</p><p>“I- um,” Harry clears his throat, “Yeah.”</p><p>They stand still for a moment, just looking at each other’s shoes. It starts sprinkling.</p><p>“I guess I should get home before it gets too bad,” Louis mumbles.</p><p>Harry looks up at him, frowning as the rain above them starts hitting the ground harder.</p><p>“You’ll catch a cold walking to yours,” he claims, “Come to mine instead?”</p><p>It sounds like a shitty pick up line. Louis lets himself get picked up.</p><p>“Okay,” he says, even though Harry’s flat is a mere forty steps closer to the cinema than his own.</p><p>or, the one where Louis loves Harry, Harry loves the movies, and running in the rain is better when holding hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	right here by my side

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've every posted... Ah! Constructive criticism is appreciated, if not encouraged! Enjoy :^)
> 
> Title from [Sidekick by Walk the Moon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NXtLryriWeM)

Louis had just gotten out of the shower when his phone rang on the counter. He sighed, scrubbing his wet hair half-assedly with his towel before hanging it over the shower rod and grabbing his phone.

 

“Hey, H,” he says as he opens the bathroom door.

 

“Hey, Lou.”

 

Louis knows that tone. It’s Harry’s  _ you were right _ voice.

 

“What’s up?” He asks, knowing Harry takes it as ‘ _ what’d he do this time?’ _

 

“Can I come in before we talk about it?”

 

Louis laughs inwardly, “Key’s in the potted plant.”

 

He’s told him that more times than he can remember. 

 

Louis ends their call and tosses his phone onto his bed, before snatching up a pair of joggers and pulling them on for the sake of decency. Moments later, he’s in his living room, plopping down next to a grumpy-looking Harry.

 

“Hey, kid,” he sighs, tucking one leg under the other.

 

“He broke up with me,” Harry blurts out, tacking on, “again.”

 

Louis’ mind tells him to say  _ ‘told you so’  _ but his heart sinks at the small pout Harry’s sporting. So, instead, he wraps an arm around Harry’s bundled shoulder and pulls him into a hug.

 

“I’m sorry Haz,” he mutters after a short moment of silence, “Why’d he do it this time?”

 

“Does he even need a reason anymore?” Harry sniffled, shaking his head, “Must be me, I guess.”

 

Louis scoffs and prods his shoulder, “It’s not you.”

 

“Probably is,” Harry shrugs, “I don’t know. I hate this so much. I hate  _ him _ so much.”

 

_ Me too. _

 

“No you don’t,” Louis claims despite himself, “You’re just going through a rough patch.”

 

“This entire relationship is a rough patch.”

 

Louis chuckles and runs a comforting hand down Harry’s arm, “Wanna go catch a film or something? Get your mind off it?”

 

Harry smiles into his bare shoulder, “‘Course I do.”

 

Because as much as Louis loves being right, he loves Harry a hundred times over.

  
  


Louis gets ready and they go to see some action movie that Harry chose. Louis knew it helped, the mindlessness of the explosions and loud sounds drowning out his thoughts of the real world. He didn’t pay much attention, mainly watching Harry react to the movie instead. They did this a lot--going to the cinema. It was a mutually enjoyed pastime and neither of them lived too far from the local theatre. 

 

“I’m gonna pop to the loo,” he whispers to Harry at some point in the movie (he recalls a stare-down between two of the main characters, but couldn’t be arsed to collect any more information), “Did you want a drink or anything?”

 

“Popcorn sounds good,” Harry whispers back, but failing miserably and getting  shushed by a man sat behind them. Louis sends them a glare and stands up.

 

“Popcorn it is,” he says at normal speaking volume. The same man shushes him louder and he sends him a beaming smile, causing Harry to giggle. 

 

Louis’ heart flutters at the sound.

 

He gets light butter on the popcorn and douses it in salted caramel flavoring, just as Harry likes it. 

 

He turns to head back to the movie when he sees Harry walking towards him.

 

“Is the movie already over?” Louis asks, confused.

 

“Nope.”

 

“What’re you doing out here, then?”

 

Harry shrugs and mutters, “I missed you.”

 

Louis wants to blush, but rolls his eyes and conceals his emotions, “That needy, eh Styles?”

 

Harry looks a little off-put, and Louis realizes what he’s gone and done.

 

“Shit, sorry babes. Bad timing.”

 

Harry just smiles weakly, “Should we go back to the theatre then?”

 

“Sure.”

  
  


They sit back in the same seats as before, not without a harsh look from the shushing man. The film drags on and Harry munches away on his popcorn happily. Louis could watch him watch movies forever, he thinks. 

 

There’s an orchestral song playing as one of the characters is dying as slowly as humanly possible when Harry reaches over and slips his fingers between Louis’. 

 

He’s pretty sure he stops breathing for a moment. Or maybe time stops. But that can’t be the case, because Harry is still chomping on popcorn and the man on the screen is still fighting for his life.

 

Maybe it’s just a force of habit.

 

_ He only sees movies with you, idiot. _

 

Maybe he’s just feeling vulnerable and sad and needs this, it probably means nothing to him.

 

 _He’s HOLDING your HAND you shit, it doesn’t mean_ _NOTHING_.

 

He argues back and forth with himself for a few moments and before he knows it the screen has changed to show a scene of the, presumably dead, character’s funeral. It’s raining, everyone is holding standard black umbrellas and the film editors have chosen an overused, clic hé filter, causing the whole shot to look cold and depressing. 

 

_ Why do sad things always happen in the rain?  _ He thinks to himself.

 

They hold hands the rest of the movie, and Louis is subconsciously worrying about his hand being too sweaty or too tight around Harry’s or if he isn’t good at holding hands. And really,  _ how can you be bad at that _ ?

 

The ending credits roll and Harry stands up, not letting go of Louis’ hand once.

 

“That was pretty good,” he says as he stretches. Louis is staring up at him, his hand suspended in air by Harry’s.

 

He hums, though he couldn’t tell you the first thing about the damn movie.

Harry keeps their hands together as they walk out of the cinema, holding his bag of popcorn in his free hand. Louis doesn’t know how, but Harry is really good at holding hands. He swings their arms back and forth until they reach the corner of the sidewalk. 

 

“You feeling better then?” Louis asks. This is the part where they’d usually part ways and head home, but Harry’s fingers are still between Louis’ comfortably.

 

“Yeah, a great deal,” Harry nods. Louis smiles at him and squeezes his hand experimentally.

 

“I- um,” Harry clears his throat, “Yeah.”

 

They stand still for a moment, just looking at each other’s shoes. It starts sprinkling.

 

“I guess I should get home before it gets too bad,” Louis mumbles. 

 

Harry looks up at him, frowning as the rain above them starts hitting the ground harder.

 

“You’ll catch a cold walking to yours,” he claims, “Come to mine instead?”

 

It sounds like a shitty pick up line. Louis lets himself get picked up.

 

“Okay,” he says, even though Harry’s flat is a mere forty steps closer to the cinema than his own.

 

They run together in the rain, hand in hand, laughing as they get soaked and splashing in puddles to make matter worse.

 

It’s not until they’re in front of Harry’s building when Louis realizes what he’s doing. That is, if Harry was actually asking him what he think he’s asking him. Louis had no problem being a rebound, but being  _ Harry’s _ ? And he was his best friend for God’s sake, he couldn’t just do that, knowing Harry’s vulnerable state.

 

“Um-Harry,” he stops him as he opens the door. The rain is loud behind him and Harry looks pretty with his hair wet. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“What’s… What are we doing?”

 

Harry takes a deep breath and lets it go before wiggling their tangled hands, “Whatever you want, Lou.”

 

_ Don’t get ahead of yourself there, H. _

 

“I don’t want you to think that-”

 

“I don’t think anything, Lou,” Harry interrupts him, “I just know that I want to kiss you. A lot.”

 

Louis swallows audibly and can’t muster up any other words, so he settles for, “Okay.”

 

“Okay?” Harry raises his eyebrows. Louis is stuck in time again. His hair is dripping rainwater onto his nose and the tip of his nose is dripping the same water onto his shoe and Harry is hopping down one step closer to him.

 

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” Louis manages to get out. Harry looks upset that Louis would think such a thing, but he doesn’t stop moving towards him.

 

“I’m a single man, I’ll do what I please.” 

 

He gives Louis a small kiss on the cheek and pulls him up the steps, away from the view of the street. They smile at each other shortly. Harry is kissing him. He hopes he’s kissing back.

 

He must be, he assumes, because Harry’s hands have moved to his waist and the back of his neck and he’s turning his head like he wants more. Louis finally has the feeling back in his bones and muscles and body, and he feels himself reach out to grab Harry’s torso and bringing him as close as he can. There’s a tongue in his mouth and teeth that aren’t his biting at his lips.

 

For someone who’s only been single for three hours, Harry sure is thriving. 

 

“I really,” Harry says with a pant as he pulls away from Louis, “Like kissing you.”

 

“Same.”

 

Harry laughs against his mouth and wow, he could get used to that feeling. 

 

“Should we go inside?” Louis suggests, “Before we both catch colds, that is.”

 

He’s dragged through the door of Harry’s building then, and mindlessly follows him up the stairs. His heart is pounding rapidly in his chest, and he feels like it might burst. His whole body feels that way, actually. Louis is going to explode and die. He is going to explode and die and it would all be because of Harry.

 

Harry gets the door open, but doesn’t bother shutting it before he pulls Louis flush against him, pressing his lips onto his like his life depended on it. They’re up against the wall by Harry’s coat hanger, hands roaming and wet coats being shucked off. 

 

“God, why haven’t we done this before?” Harry questions, pressing three quick kisses in a row to his lips. Louis has to hold him away for a moment to gather his thoughts and catch his breath.

 

His hands rested on Harry’s chest and shoulder, the boy looking down at him with parted lips and wide eyes. Louis’ skin was tingling everywhere that Harry touched him, feeling humid and claustrophobic in his damp shirt. 

 

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact emotion he felt at the time. It was all too much to take in--Harry’s body against his, his green eyes searching his own for  _ something _ , the plumpness of his lips so close to Louis’. It was everything he’d wanted for the last four years of his life. Since the day he met Harry, he wanted this. Yet, contradictory to his as fantasies and desires, a pang of guilt resonated in Louis’ stomach.

 

“Harry,” his voice cracks. Harry’s fingers skim his waist lightly.

 

“What?”

 

“You… You’re sad. I don’t know if you’re thinking right. We can’t.”

 

Harry lets out a breath, a piece of his hair flying away from his face, “We can’t what?”

 

“Do anything.”

 

Louis’ head falls back on the wall as Harry looks at him intently. The open window in the kitchen allows the sound of the rain pounding onto the streets to flow into Harry’s apartment. The sound of an ambulance siren fades as it turns a corner.

 

“I don’t want you to regret this,” he pipes up, his hands now toying with the hem of Harry’s rain stained shirt, “I don’t mind being a rebound but you could have anyone in the world, I don’t want you to settle for me.”

 

There’s a tension in the air of the small space between them, and Louis wants to melt into a puddle on the floor. He reminds himself that Harry would have to mop him up and rejects the idea. 

 

“You're not my rebound, Louis,” Harry says, brows furrowed. He brings a hand up to rest on Louis’ cheek, “but, I do agree that we shouldn't do anything. At least until we talk.”

 

    Louis blinks at him. Harry runs his thumb over his bottom lip and drops his hand to grab Louis at his waist.

 

“Can we talk, Lou?”

 

“Make me a sandwich,” Louis deadpans. He nudges his hipbone against Harry, “Then we'll talk.”

 

Harry does, of course, and Louis sits on the counter to his left as he does so. 

 

“Would you like cheese on it? I've got provolone and regular cheddar.”

 

“Surprise me,” Louis tells him,  _ you have met had an issue doing that today. _

 

Harry choses provolone, Louis sees. He watches as Harry spreads condiments and places deli sliced meat on two pieces of bread. He makes the most mundane things so beautiful, he notes. That’s the thing he loves about Harry. One of the many things, actually. 

 

“Would you like it cut in half?”

 

“I’ve been in love with you since you were eighteen,” Louis decides to say. The plate Harry grabbed from the cupboard above him clatters onto the counter, spinning in a few circles before landing near the edge.

 

“Why didn’t you _ do something _ ?” 

Louis jumps, slightly taken aback by Harry’s sudden harshness of voice. He looks from the boy shortly before directing his gaze to the wall behind him.

 

“You’ve been in four relationships for the last three years, H,” Louis mutters, “There wasn’t much I could do.”

 

“Each and every one of those guys were absolute shit heads and you know that,” Harry snaps. He shoves the plate forward so it slides farther back on the counter and huffs out a breath. 

 

Louis is close to being snarky. Now is not the time. He stands up to walk to Harry, but speak of the devil, he is already standing in front of him.

 

He’s looking right in Louis’ eyes when he asks sadly, “You let me get treated like shit?”

 

Louis shouldn’t feel responsible, but he does, and Harry looks near tears.

 

“I was always there when you were hurt,” he says, no heat behind his words, “And… Like I said. You could have anyone in the world, you shouldn’t settle for me. I don’t want you to, and I didn’t think  _ you  _ wanted to, I’m not a mind reader, Haz-”

 

“You let me get treated like shit for three years when you loved me more than any of those guys did,” Harry ignores his response. 

 

Louis closes his eyes as Harry lifts his arms and puts them around his shoulders.

 

“And I let you sit there and watch me be with them,” his voice cracks, “Because I was too afraid to tell you that I’ve loved you just as long.”

 

When he opens his eyes, Harry’s eyes are already on him and his hands are gripping his shoulder blades.

 

“I’m so sorry, Louis,” he whispers. His lips barely move, but his voice is rasped, as if the words were scraping their way out of his mouth.

 

“You have no reason to be sorry,” Louis shushes him, hooking a hand on the crease of his elbow, “You just wanted to feel loved and I didn’t do that for you, darling, what were you supposed to do?”

 

Harry shakes his head and pulls Louis close to him in a tight embrace. They’ve hugged plenty of times, but this time it’s different. Harry has his nose pressed into Louis’ neck, breathing deeply as Louis puts his arms around Harry’s torso.

 

They stand there for a few moments. Louis observes that Harry’s heartbeat slows down the longer he’s in his arms. He raises his head and presses a kiss to the side of Harry’s head, keeping his lips there in an attempt to comfort Harry. Or himself. Probably both.

 

Harry smiles against his skin and purses his lips into a kiss, leaving one in that spot and three more up his neck as he works his way to Louis’ lips. 

 

They end up on the floor within minutes. Louis decides Harry should sit in his lap for the rest of his life. He’s got his mouth on Louis’ neck again, this time being more rough with his kisses, his teeth nipping at the skin and his lips sucking almost violently, in a pleasant way.

 

“Harry,” Louis murmured, grinning breathlessly when he feels Harry hum, “My sandwich is getting soggy.”

 

Harry laughs through his nose, sitting up and reaching over Louis’ head to grab the plate. Louis takes the opportunity to duck his head under Harry’s arm and bite the middle of his ribcage, making him squeal and squirm and nearly drop the plate onto the floor.

 

“Stop jesting around and eat your sandwich,” Harry instructs, kissing him bluntly before handing him the plate. He slides off Louis’ lap and situates himself under his arm instead, resting his head in the crevices he was only recently marking up.

 

Louis shares his sandwich, giving Harry a few bites here and there. The rain is still pouring outside. He can feel each drop on his skin, but it’s not rain, it’s the secrets and praises and confessions that Harry whispered into his ear, all prickling and  reverberating in every part of his body.

 

“Stay for a cuddle tonight, won’t you?”

 

“Is that all you want to do? Cuddle?” Louis teases. Harry nuzzles farther into his chest.

 

“Might suck you off, if you’d let me.”

 

“You’re a single man, you’ll do what you please.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! follow me on tumblr: popcornlarrie :^)


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